EDITED: July 10th, 2020

08 — Hogwarts Once More

He felt me before I even thought of using a quill. He always greeted me with kind words, which I ignored as I wrote about my findings.

McKinnon Massacre. 1980. Marlene McKinnon. Natasha's generation.

Bellatrix Lestrange. Née Black. One known sister, Narcissa. Alec Barton's generation.

Angelique Barton, murdered at 43. Reasons unknown. Former Hit-Witch. A case gone wrong?

Cassie Barton. Died before her husband. Willing victim?

He never probed. He never asked. Instead, he told me about himself. Memories scattered, all I ever got were short sentences or lone words.

Mother. Dead. Orphan.

Lonely childhood. No friends.

Kind woman. Never saw her again.

Hogwarts. Surprise. Joy.

I was sorted into Slytherin. Fitting, I guess.

Snakes talk to me. I've never been alone since then.

The woman returned. She said she'd help me if I ever needed it.

I tutor. Many need help. Particularly this Hufflepuff.

The more I knew, the more I grew to pity him. It occurred to me that perhaps I was speaking to someone cursed. This had been a boy – a living boy – and they had taken his life from him. Yes, it was sad, but it had been his, and he would never get to see his dreams come true.

Had he wished to be an Auror? No, he would've probably been a professor. He talked a lot about that. He could've taught at Hogwarts, and he would've been loved and resented for his genius.

Oh yes. There was no doubt Tom was a genius. When he wasn't speaking about himself, he wrote about school subjects. Weeks later, he was able to create full paragraphs in which he explained the pros and cons of certain spells.

I asked him to teach me what he learned on his first year. He gladly obliged.

•••◘◘◘•••

The sentence came on my last week of summer.

My trunk was ready to go, my homework piling on Ginny's desk. Ron had tried to sneak it out to copy, only for his mother to catch him red-handed. After that, he resorted to enduring two hours of me watching him (and Harry, whenever he realized he'd missed a tidbit) work.

"Better me than Percy," I would say encouragingly. "Better me than Hermione."

Quidditch sessions continued. To Ginny's amusement, I was better as a Beater than at the other roles. She began to join me whenever Mr. Weasley would enquire about the Muggle world; at nights, she would tell me about Wizarding Lore. And when Harry and I went with Mrs. Weasley to the nearby town, she followed and called herself my "Magical Tour Guide."

The rest of the Weasleys I endured. Fred and George knew not to mess with me, and Percy talked with me about his work, surprised that I was able to understand as it was all from grades above me. He'd been even more astounded when I informed him that was what Harry and I used to learn in the Muggle world, and as skeptical as he was of that, he listened attentively when we talked.

Tom Riddle had become a fixture too. A friend of sorts. One in desperate need of attention.

So when I found the words, my view about him turned upside down.

I can talk to snakes.

I doubted it at first. But I'd never heard anyone say it before, not even as a joke. It wasn't something that simply occurred to you; people rarely thought of snakes, unless you were in the wilderness. All the people I've met were city people down to their cores.

It hadn't also occurred to me to find out if talking to snakes was an inherited skill for wizards.

It could be a lie.

It could be a truth.

I didn't know what to do.

•••◘◘◘•••

"Ginny," I called.

It was September 1st and all of us were getting ready to leave in the Ford Anglia. I would miss the Burrow terribly, but excitement won over. I was ready for a second year at Hogwarts, ready to see my dormitory, and most of all, ready to spend a lot of time in the library.

I hadn't forgotten. Mrs. Weasley's bravery had only motivated me to search on my own instead of probing Natasha. Hogwarts had all records of previous students, and extraordinarily, a lot of living witnesses. The teachers, if not the ghosts, were bound to have met Natasha in her time, as well as my father. Marlene McKinnin and Bellatrix Black would come up in conversation later, but for now... they were all that mattered.

And she would turn up too. She had to. Cassie Barton – whoever she had been – couldn't remain forever in shadows.

But this wasn't what I wanted to discuss with Ginny.

"Remember what I told you about the diary?"

She lowered her voice. "The one that talks back?"

"Yeah," I bit my lip. "I'm beginning to think it was a person – no, hear me out," I said hastily, for she was frowning now. "He – and it was a he, he says his name is Tom – talks about Hogwarts a lot. He speaks about what he does, what he learnt – he still thinks he's alive."

"A curse?" Her eyes lightened. "We could write to Bill! He knows a lot about these things –"

"The thing is, I don't know if I can trust him," I cut across her. "I mean, he says all these things, but what if he's lying? What if the diary is reading my mind or something?"

"No object can be that powerful, Anya," Ginny said. "But... bring it with you. In case you want my brother to help."

And that was that.

•••◘◘◘•••

Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked like old-fashioned professors instead of dentists, which explained a lot about Hermione. However, Mr. Granger proved to be the opposite of his daughter.

"Anya Barton!" he exclaimed, shaking my hand as excitedly as Mr. Weasley had the first time. "It's an honour to meet the person who finally beat my daughter in an exam! Well, meet 'officially', as we did see you that other day at the bookstore –"

"Dad!" Hermione cried, hiding her face.

"What? I was starting to think your mother birthed a computer! Let me rejoice you're my beautiful, human, daughter."

"For God's sake, Alan, don't embarrass your daughter, you do enough of that with your mates," said his wife irritably, shoving him. "Ignore him," she told me. "We do that. And as much as I'd like to meet your other friends, dear, I believe the train's about to leave."

She was right. The train lurched suddenly, making Hermione stumble into me. Mr. and Mrs. Granger waved at us, their figures fading as we moved further, and the whole station disappeared as we entered the first tunnel.

I waited until light shone from the windows to say, "That was incredibly weird."

"My dad thinks his jokes are funny," said Hermione furiously. "No matter how many times we tell him, he says the same thing every time."

"I like him. He reminds me a lot of Mr. Weasley."

"Speaking of, where are Harry and Ron?"

I frowned. "I don't know. I lost the Weasleys once we crossed the brick wall." My eyes widened. "Here's to hoping they didn't leave my trunk at the station. Then again, Mrs. Weasley would've had a conniption and ran after us, if that were the case."

Hermione almost smiled. "Let's go find the boys."

As we trekked down the narrow corridor, we watched many uncovered compartments, all filled with kids of every ages. Many of them I knew by sight, either from the Great Hall of the Charms Club; the others were unknown.

It was odd, seeing these new faces. Most of them seemed thrilled, though there were a few green faces here and there.

"Did we look like that?" I asked Hermione lowly. She followed my gaze, grimacing at a boy who was waving his wand foolishly.

"No," she said shortly. "We definitely didn't make fools out of ourselves on the first day."

Eventually, we found Ginny sitting alone. Her green face made me grin.

"Weasley for the win, eh?" I teased, leaning on the door. Hermione tutted disapprovingly.

"Shut up," Ginny moaned. "I just ate one of Mum's sandwiches and I don't think it agreed with me today."

"I felt like that too last year," said Hermione sympathetically. She walked inside and stuck out her hand. "I'm sorry for not introducing myself properly before. I'm Hermione Granger."

Ginny reached weakly. "Ginny. I'm sorry for my brother." At Hermione's raised brow, she explained, "Ron's kind of a prat, so I wouldn't be surprised if he is rude to you."

Hermione and I exchanged looks. Mine was positively gleeful.

"You wouldn't believe what he's gotten us into." I laughed, remembering the troll. And Peeves. And just about every Slytherin apart from Malfoy.

•••◘◘◘•••

We didn't see Harry or Ron for the rest of the ride, but we kind of forgot them the more Ginny chatted. Any nervousness from before was gone, replaced by all the boldness she displayed on the Quidditch field. She got really quiet whenever it was Hermione's turn to talk, her eyes glazing over as she prattled on. Like me, she nodded every few times, returning back to the world of the living when I interrupted.

When Draco Malfoy walked past our window, I fell quiet. It wasn't until Ginny kicked me that I realized I was digging my nails into my legs.

I smoothed the fabric on my lap, ignoring the silence that had claimed the compartment.

"I never really told you, Anya, but I'm sorry about that day," Hermione said. "If it wasn't for me –"

I shook my head. "It wasn't because of you. Prats like the Malfoys thrive on causing discord. Besides, I was bound to find out, wasn't I? When it's about my family, nothing stays a secret."

"It's sort of funny, isn't it?" she said quietly. "When you told me about her, you called her your aunt. You hadn't even thought about it back then."

I smirked humourlessly. "Yeah. Funny." An idea occurred to me. "Hermione, have you looked into my family?"

A dull flush bloomed from her cheeks.

"I'm not angry. I'm just asking what is it that you know."

"Well," she started, her voice high-pitched. "Alec Barton was considered the Gryffindor Prince: perfect scores, perfect personality, and with both Prefect and Head Boy badges under his belt. He rose to prominence when he solved his first case, freeing a ring of Muggles from the wizarding Black Market. He also is known for trying to establish ties with the Muggle government."

"Yeah," said Ginny, leaning forward. "Dad's always raving about that and how he'd like to follow into his footsteps."

"What about Natasha?"

Hermione frowned. "She's more difficult to search." As if I didn't know that. "Other than the McKinnon Massacre, there have been very few articles about her and they all say the same: Healer, Alec Barton's cousin, part of the exchange program between MACUSA and the Ministry, and her involvement in the Wolfsbane Potion."

"And her fiancé," I murmured. "What's the wolfsbane for, anyway?"

"It's like a cure for werewolves," Ginny said.

"It doesn't cure lycanthropy," Hermione corrected. "It makes sure the hosts retain a clear conscience during the full moon. It's not even foolproof."

"Still. For werewolves, it's nothing short of miraculous," Ginny commented.

"I imagine." I frowned slightly. "What about my mother?"

Hermione blinked. "Your mother?"

"Yeah. Cassie Barton." Hermione's expression was slightly befuddled. "You haven't investigated her?" That was a surprise.

"I never felt the need to," she said defensively. "And I thought you already knew about her."

"I don't. And from what I've noticed, no one else does."

"Really?" Ginny asked, eyes wide. "Nothing? What about her family? There must be a registry somewhere; Purebloods are really picky with that."

"She must've changed her name," said Hermione suddenly. "That's why there's no record of 'Cassie Barton'!"

"I figured that, yeah," I said irritably. "The thing is, how am I supposed to know who she was when everyone who knew her is dead? Natasha won't fess up, no matter how many times I ask –"

Ginny cut me off. "You've been writing to her?" I wasn't mad at her surprise; I'd spent most of our Quidditch time badmouthing Natasha, hence why I became such a good Beater.

"I would've screamed at her if I could. Either way, she's not willing to tell me anything about my parents or herself. I was thinking of looking into the library's old newspapers. Maybe there's a photo of her somewhere..."

"And if there's a photo, you could show it around," said Ginny with dawning realization. "You've been really busy this summer, haven't you?"

"It was that or going mad."

•••◘◘◘•••

We never saw Harry or Ron throughout the journey. When the twins came to check on Ginny, they revealed they hadn't seen the boys as well. A while later, Percy came and he, too, had not seen them at all.

The Prefects were made to check every compartment. In the end, they came to the conclusion Harry and Ron hadn't boarded the train. Halfway through the journey, the Head Boy, a Ravenclaw, sent a letter ahead to Professor Dumbledore.

It was dark when the Hogwarts Express came to a full stop. Hermione and I were given no other choice but to wait for news at the castle, and were separated from Ginny. The girl looked sick once more, but we couldn't offer her words of comfort as we were ushered to the long queue of older students.

We walked, of all places, to the edges of the Black Forest. I was not overly found of the place, as last year Harry, Malfoy, and I had witnessed Voldemort drink the blood of a unicorn directly from the source. However, we stopped across of them, facing the path that lead to Hogwarts.

Hermione shook my sleeve. "Anya, look!" She pointed to the other end of the path.

A dark carriage crawled slowly by itself towards us. Reins floated in front of it, as if being pulled by something invisible. Yet, when it stopped, there was nothing to suggest otherwise.

It was a cosy thing. The seating was shaped like a U, and eight people easily fit in the space. The windows had dark curtains and two gaslights hung on each wall of the carriage, giving us an ethereal glow.

Hermione and I were joined by strangers, except for Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. Thick as thieves, these Gryffindors were rarely seen without the other. I drew comfort from Dean's hunched figure and Seamus' jittery fingers, figuring they also felt like we were stepping into some classic horror movie.

We fortunately didn't end up in Frankenstein's castle. It was Hogwarts, all right, with its grand windows and majestic towers. From this new vantage point of view, I could see the floating candles of the Great Hall and the boats that would take the first years to the main entrance.

"Boy, that was awfully suffocating," said Dean once we were away from prying ears.

"Tell me about it," I grumbled. I stood on my tiptoes to look around. "This is new. I've never seen this side of the castle before."

"That's because this is the back entrance," Seamus rolled his eyes. "The one we came in last year is only for first years and guests."

"No, this entrance is used to usher second years and above first so as to not block the first years," Hermione explained.

"Correct, Miss Granger," a voice squeaked behind us. "Five points to Gryffindor."

"Classes haven't started yet, Professor Flitwick," I said, grinning down at the tiny professor. He was wearing a tuxedo now and his hair was combed nicely. I had no doubt he would sport a wild look tomorrow.

"What Professor McGonagall doesn't know won't hurt her." Wand in hand, he made a quill and a long piece of parchment appear out of thin air. "Now, names please?"

Once he crossed our names out, we were led inside the castle. This new entrance had a great archway with a pair of doors similar to those on the other side of building. Students walked inside in bines, and a few turns later, we found the Great Hall.

I saw Professor Dumbledore first. He was seated at his high chair as usual, chattering cheerfully to a bored-looking Severus Snape. Professor Sprout was talking to Professor Sinistra, while a strange woman ate impatiently next to them. Her eyes were so big that they hid part of her forehead and of her cheeks – but on closer inspection, I realized these eyes of hers were glasses. Shawls and beads hung about her, mismatching the colour of her long dress.

She looked like a bug. I was about to point her out to Hermione when the woman rose quickly and left through the teachers' door. I clicked my mouth shut.

The Prefects of each House guided their respective charges to the tables, leaving the space close to the staff's table empty for the first years. It was fortunate we could sit down wherever we liked, for the twins had been wearing mischievous grins the moment we'd stepped inside.

Hermione and I choose to sit somewhere close to the first-years area, so that when Ginny was sorted (and I had no doubt she'd be a Gryffindor, despite her Slytherin-like tendencies) she wouldn't be alone. Across, Neville Longbottom sat. The round-faced boy looked just as jittery as I remembered, and despite the circumstances at the end of last year, he managed to smile at me.

Ten minutes later, the Great Hall's doors opened. Sharp as ever, Professor McGonagall walked in, leading the line of first years. Ginny's hair stuck out amidst the crowd, as did a silvery blonde head.

A familiar patched hat was placed in front of the staff's table. Professor McGonagall stopped next to the Sorting Hat, and twitching, the scrap of cloth spoke.

If I were to tell you a story,

It would be this:

When I was born,

Hogwarts did not exist.

Instead, four great friends dared to dream

Of a place where everyone could think,

And soon the dream became a plan

That took place in a blink.

They schemed and schemed

Until there was nothing left to forget,

But before it could begin

The four founders once again met.

"We need an object

Whose judgment will be clear as day,"

Said the four,

"Wise words that will forever stay."

I was born on a rainy day

But if I were to tell you where you belong,

Would you believe me, child,

Even if I were wrong?

I stopped paying attention. The Sorting Hat was something of a mystery, an annoying one at that. Speaking in riddles was his thing, but its words usually hit home a lot closer that I would've liked. After all, it had tried to sort me into Slytherin – the House of the ambitious and cunning.

Natasha had been a Slytherin. So had been Tom. What did that say of me, who had demanded to be placed in Gryffindor because I believed I would find out about my parents there?

Not exactly wrong, were you? You're just missing the important bits, the ones nobody seem to care about.

At last, the Sorting Hat fell silent and polite applause broke. Professor McGonagall waited for the sound to die before unrolling her scroll.

"Archer, Jonathan."

She called name after name. "Ellis, Diana," became the first Gryffindor, followed by, "Grayson, Nicholas." Ravenclaw seemed to get most of the members this year, followed closely by Hufflepuff. Then again, we were only ten in my year.

At last, Professor McGonagall said, "Weasley, Ginevra!"

There were still a few students left, but her fiery hair drew many eyes. Holding her head up, she walked to the stool, sat, and was promptly swallowed by the Sorting Hat.

I had to blink. Never before had she looked so small. Ginny's personality was so big and loud I often forgot she was a head smaller than me.

Pursing its lips, the hat took a moment before announcing:

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The Weasleys, Hermione, and I stood immediately, clapping and cheering – in the twins' case, cat-whistling – for her. Even Percy, the most composed of the brothers, was saying, "That's my little sister!"

I waved my arm, gesturing to the seat next to mine. No one had dared to take it, nor had I allowed them. Ginny slid next to me with a relieved sigh, leaning forward to rest her forehead on the table.

"That was terrible," she said.

I snickered. "You didn't even last a minute up there."

She turned a beady eye on my way. "That thing – it spoke in my head! And I think it was taking the mickey out of me."

"At least it didn't try to psychoanalyze you."

"What?"

Hermione leaned forward. "Anya was a Hatstall." She frowned at me thoughtfully. "You never told me where it considered placing you."

"That's because it was this" – my fingers touched – "close to kicking me out. Apparently it doesn't like it when one speaks back."

Finally, "Young, Wesley," was sorted into Gryffindor, and when the applause died, Professor Dumbledore stood from his throne-like chair.

The old headmaster was wearing his favourite set of burgundy robes, his long silver beard a stark contrast against the fabric. Sometimes I wondered if those were his pyjamas, for I knew he had at least one suit made of the same fabric as today's clothes. Yet that did not matter when he greeted all of us warmly with open arms.

"Welcome! Welcome to all the new and old faces on this hall. The summer has come to an end, but I hope you have not emptied your heads completely," he chuckled. "Mr. Filch, the caretaker, tells me to remind you all to not wander to the Forbidden Forest if you don't want to suffer a painful death – but do not let this old man's speech stop you from enjoying your stay.

"On another note, I'd like to welcome our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lockhart."

All heads swivelled in unison as the man in question rose from the table. The applause that followed was deafening, but it didn't compare to Hermione's screech of delight.

No wonder I hadn't seen him, his robes were so light in colour – a golden shade, if I was seeing right – that he'd faded into the background. Except Professor Dumbledore had given him an opening so wide that the man had now walked to the podium – the Headmaster's podium.

Gilderoy Lockhart gave his winning smile, and the Great Hall sighed.

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," he beamed. "I must admit I did not expect the invitation, for I had just arrived from my book-signing tour of Break with a Banshee. Yet I was so humbled by it that I sent my reply with little to no time! It will be a great honour to share all my knowledge with you, but it will be even greater to become more than your teacher – a confidant! Feel free to knock on my office, whether it is for advice or" – he chuckled – "just a cup of tea."

He waved his hand, and all the girls around me stood, clapping so hard the Great Hall rumbled. Lockhart finally went to his seat, and I noticed the one next to him was empty. Professor Snape was nowhere in sight.

"Let the feast begin!" said Professor Dumbledore.

As flowers in full blossom, trades of food sprang up from the tables, looking as delicious as they did last year. I grabbed a bit of everything, and my favourite, sausages.

Just before I could dig in, a whisper carried over.

"Did you hear? They say Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were caught arriving in a flying car!"

The fork slipped from between my fingers.

•••◘◘◘•••

"It can't be true, it can't be true, they are not that stupid to fly Mr. Weasley's car at Hogwarts..."

They were that stupid, but it wouldn't do any good to point out this right now. The rumours were confirmed the moment Snape came back to fetch Professor McGonagall, and hence, Professor Dumbledore. When the trio left, the hall broke into whispers. From the things I heard, I drew a conclusion: Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had flown to Hogwarts in a Ford Anglia.

They must have desperate though: they only went to the extremes when they thought there was no other choice.

I adjusted my arms, leaning down to bite a muffin. When I looked up, I saw we were going down the corridor leading to the Fat Lady's portrait. When the Lady's frame came into view, so did two familiar shapes.

Hermione exclaimed, "There you are!" and ran towards them. Sighing, I followed at a steadier pace.

"Where have you been? A ridiculous rumour – someone said you'd been expelled for crashing a flying car!"

"Well, we haven't been expelled," Harry assured her.

"It'd be worrying about your limbs rather than that," I said, chewing. I allowed Ron to steal a sandwich – the food was for them, anyways. "Is it true that you hit the Whomping Willow? Of all places to land, you had to choose the one that hit back..."

"Tas' wot I said!" Ron yelled. "It's gotta be Harry's rotten luck –!"

"Are you saying," Hermione hissed dangerously, "that you did fly here?"

Harry and I took a step back. Ron, ever so stupid, waved his hand impatiently.

"Just skip the lecture and tell us the password."

Hermione's nostrils flared. I wouldn't be surprised if smoke came out of them.

"It's wattlebird, but that's not the point –"

Hermione's words were drowned by the cheers of the Gryffindors as the portrait's door swung open. Arms reached through the portrait hole to pull Harry and Ron inside, leaving us to scramble in after them.

"Brilliant!" yelled Lee Jordan. "Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people will be talking about that one for years –"

"Good for you," said a fifth year loudly.

Fred and George pushed their way to the front of the crowd and said together, "Why couldn't we've come in the car, eh?"

"They are unbelievable," Hermione said flatly.

I shrugged. "You were the one who wanted to befriend them."